During my first year at the University of Utah, I did not own a car. I was at the mercy of public transportation, and it wasn't pretty. Each day, I had to catch the bus in Taylorsville, take it to the Trax station in Murray, ride Trax downtown, and catch another bus up to the U. This took me an hour and a half each way, which meant 3 hours among Salt Lake's elite every day. You might be surprised how much Salt Lake's elite smells like B.O.
One day, I spent an extra-long time waiting at the bus stop at the end of my street; I must have missed my bus, and therefore, had to spend 30 minutes waiting for the next one. I was wearing this skirt from Express, still one of my favorite pieces:
I had bought it for $40, which was a large purchase for a poor college student, but I loved it too much to pass it up. Anyway, as I waited, I heard someone honk at me. This was known to happen on occasion, and I chalked it up to looking extra nice that day. About 60 seconds later, someone else honked. "Wow," I thought. "I am on fire today!" Then another honk. And another! After 4 honks, I was no longer flattered - I was annoyed. Is that really how to impress a girl? Honk! Honk! They were coming every 2 minutes by now. By the 8th honk, I was completely fed up and pissed off, and I felt like a piece of meat. So for honk #9, I gave the driver the finger. Oh yes. Sweet little Mormon girl had had enough. I finally counted 11 honks and/or cat calls that morning. By the time I boarded the bus, I was so angry, I could have punched anyone in the face for looking at me the wrong way.
And now to the point of this story... The first time someone asked me if I'm excited about having this baby, I was touched. It was nice to know that someone was interested in my life. Momentous occasions like weddings, babies, and spelling bees tend to bring the masses together in celebration. Everyone is interested. Everyone is thrilled for the happy couple, the new parents, or the kid who can spell appogglatura. But here's the problem - everyone asks the same question: "Are you excited?"
I find myself avoiding eye contact with people (who aren't really looking at my eyes anyway - they're gazing at the watermelon in my shirt) just so I don't have to answer the same question over and over again. I am tempted to send an email out at work with these three sentences:
I am due next week. Yes I am excited. Don't talk to me.
Like I said, the first time was nice. The 11th time may cause certain fingers to fly on their own.